


Smile at Anything

by Miaou Jones (miaoujones)



Series: Smile in the Rain [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Gen, Historical, M/M, Troubled Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-16
Updated: 2009-12-16
Packaged: 2017-10-13 23:38:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miaoujones/pseuds/Miaou%20Jones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur’s choice of films for movie night with Alfred brings to light some problems both sides are having with the so-called special relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smile at Anything

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Berseker](http://berseker.livejournal.com/profile), for the [USxUK](http://usxuk.livejournal.com/profile) Secret Santa 2009 challenge.

_The Estate of Alfred F. Jones, February 2009_

On screen, Tom Hanks—or rather, Capt. John H. Miller is dying in the arms of Pvt. James Francis Ryan of Paton, Iowa as German tanks boom in the background. Arthur's eyes shy away from the travesty as Capt. Miller opens his mouth.

Beside him on the sofa, Alfred leans forward, his lips moving in perfect synchronicity so that it's as if Capt. Miller is speaking through Alfred: "Earn this." Alfred's eyes are bright and intense as he silently and wholeheartedly repeats the words with the American army officer.

It's too much for Arthur. He can't suppress the snort that escapes him; he doesn't even try.

Alfred turns to him, a wordless question in his wide, blue eyes. Arthur shakes him off, reaching for his drink as Alfred returns his attention to the telly. Every so often the two of them get together and stay up all night watching films. They're hours and hours into what has turned into a WWII marathon, which Alfred seems to be enjoying immensely. Of course he is; he's the hero in every one. Arthur snorts again.

This time Alfred presses the pause button as he turns to Arthur. "What's wrong?"

 _Nothing_ , Arthur means to say. But it could be that he's had one too many gin and tonic tonight, because what comes out instead is, "The films. The _movies_."

Alfred's brows arch up. "You don't like them? But you're the one who picked them." He shrugs with a smile. "If you want to watch something else, though, that's cool." He gets up and crosses to the ceiling-high shelves housing his DVD collection.

"You really don't understand, do you." Despite his flat tone, Arthur is amazed—though he doesn't know why he should be; he should have expected this response. "You don't see anything wrong with the films."

Alfred doesn't even bother to look at Arthur; he just keeps scanning the shelves as he says, "Like what?"

"Like what?" The amazement boils, heating Arthur's neck, inching up towards his face. "Like _what?_ " The tumbler he's holding prevents his fist from closing all the way. As he leans forward to set it on the table, he accidentally knocks over some of Alfred's discarded beer bottles, which fortunately are empty. "How about, for example, the fact that you weren't bloody there."

"World War II? I was there." Alfred cocks a grin over his shoulder before he returns to browsing the DVDs.

"You weren't _there_." Even though Alfred isn't looking, Arthur points at the image frozen on screen. "You never fought the 2nd SS Panzer Division in Normandy. It was _me_ who did that. _My_ men. Mine and Matthew's."

"Oh, that." Alfred's attitude is a little too casual for Arthur's liking, but he doesn't say anything as Alfred goes on, "It's not like I'm the one who made the movies myself. I mean, Steven Spielberg doesn't exactly consult with me." He flashes that infuriating grin of his. It's especially infuriating because it makes Arthur want to do something like forgive or forget, at least for tonight and as usual.

But Alfred can't leave well enough alone. "Besides, it's only natural for American audiences to want American heroes in their stories!"

Stories? _Stories?_ The tone more than the word sinks under Arthur's skin, getting on his last nerve. He decides he wants that drink in his hand, after all. "That's _history_ you're talking about," he grinds out carefully, as if explaining to a child. "Something that actually happened—though not exactly like that, in this case." His eyes narrow as he studies the back of Alfred's head. Something awful occurs to him: "Or do you think that's how it really happened?"

"Historical stories, then," Alfred says, easy. Flippant.

"You're just trying to make me angry now," Arthur decides aloud. Privately, he resolves not to rise to the bait. He lifts his glass to his lips, sipping with all the dignity and decorum that gin and tonic requires.

"Me?" Alfred turns around with a DVD case in his hand, though his fingers are obscuring enough of the cover that Arthur can't tell what it is. Alfred smiles. "You're the one who picked movies just to start a fight."

Arthur tamps down the flush of guilt that starts to steal up. "I also chose a romantic comedy, if you'll recall. _Love, Actually._ "

The smile drops off Alfred's face. "That's the one you meant to start the fight with!"

"Not at all," Arthur says, taking another sip.

Alfred gives him a hard look, then kneels to take _Saving Private Ryan_ out of the player. Instead of the one he's just pulled from the shelf, he rummages in the pile they've already watched. When he finds the one he's after, he slides it in and uses the time code feature to set playback where he wants it.

In the on-screen world of _Love, Actually_ , the Prime Minister of Great Britain and the President of the United States are holding a press conference. "Mr. President," a reporter asks, "has it been a good visit?"

"Very satisfactory indeed," the _Love, Actually_ President says. "We got what we came for, and our special relationship is still very special."

When the reporter turns the question on the _Love, Actually_ Prime Minister, Arthur feels his own lips moving with the dialogue: "I love that word—'relationship.' Covers all manner of sins, doesn't it? I fear that this has become a bad relationship; a relationship based on the President taking exactly what he wants and casually ignoring all those things that really matter to, erm... Britain."

The film speeds along in fast-forward for a few seconds, returning to normal speed as the _Love, Actually_ Prime Minister is saying, "—a friend who bullies us is no longer a friend. And since bullies only respond to strength, from now onward I will be prepared to be much stronger. And the President should be prepared for that."

The _Love, Actually_ world goes dark as the telly is clicked off abruptly. Arthur turns to find Alfred's gaze fixed on him. When their eyes meet, Alfred says, "You didn't mean to start a fight with that?"

Dimly aware that he's sidestepping the question, Arthur glowers back. "You can't deny that's what's been happening."

"No, I won't deny that there was some abuse of the special relationship," Alfred says, to Arthur's surprise. Before Arthur can pursue that promising line, though, Alfred says, "But if you had something to say, you could just say it, you know, and not rely on fictional characters. Or are you suggesting that you don't have control over your moviemakers?"

The lad thinks he's so clever, doesn't he, throwing Arthur's words back at him. Clever, but not as astute as he thinks he is. "It's hardly the same thing, is it," Arthur points out. He lifts his glass but finds it empty, so he leans forward to set it on the now-clear table as smoothly as if that's what he'd meant to do all along. "Corrupting history, versus expressing an opinion."

Alfred doesn't have an immediate comeback, and Arthur is feeling the satisfaction of having made his point—when Alfred says, "Why now? Why would you show me this _now_?"

Knowing from experience that, given enough time (usually no more than a second or two is necessary), Alfred will keep speaking, Arthur doesn't bother asking what he means. He sits back, the cushions yielding pleasantly to his weight.

Alfred's gaze remains fixed on Arthur. "'We have a chance to recalibrate the special relationship, and for the United Kingdom to work with America as a full partner.'" Alfred pauses to give the quote weight. When Arthur doesn't respond, Alfred says, "You can't have forgotten that. It was only last year. He wasn't President yet then. He wasn't even the official nominee of his party, but everyone knew he was going to be. It was a fundraiser, in London. I came over for it and you were there, too; we stood next to each other at the back of the room." Alfred tilts his head, intent. "Don't you remember?"

Of course Arthur remembers; he acknowledges it with a nod.

Alfred's gaze flickers from one of Arthur's eyes to the other, as if he's searching for something. "You asked me later if I knew he was going to say that. I didn't. But when I heard those words, when I looked over at you and your mouth did that thing where it's not smiling, but it tugs up around the edges just a little and anyone who knows you knows you're really, really pleased—when that happened, I knew—"

Alfred breaks off and takes an audible breath, and Arthur finds himself holding his own, wondering what Alfred knew.

Instead of satisfying Arthur's curiosity, Alfred says only, "He wasn't the President then, but he's the President now. He wants to change things. He wants to move forward, and so do I." The bright pride dims as he renews his focus on Arthur, though the intensity remains. "But you—Arthur, it's like you just want to dwell in the past."

Regardless of truth or lie, the words—or possibly the look that accompanies them—sting Arthur. Denial rises hot in him, but he takes a moment to calm himself, to swallow it down. Argument based on emotion is the resort of those without higher intellectual capacity. In the pause, he searches for the point he wants to make. Ah, there it is: "You can't ignore the past just because it's convenient for you in the present." His instinct is to pause again and sagely take a sip of gin and tonic; lacking the dramatic flourish of alcohol on hand, he charges on with a quote of his own. "Those who forget history, after all, are doomed to repeat it."

The look Alfred gives him is so unreadable Arthur can't be certain whether he's got through to the lad or not. Then Alfred says, "Wait here," and strides from the room.

Arthur fixes himself another drink, concentrating so as not to spill during the pouring nor the journey back across the room. He's just settled back on the sofa when Alfred returns with a laptop under his arm and sits beside Arthur on the sofa, so close their knees are almost, but not quite, touching.

Flipping open the laptop, Alfred logs in to his YouTube account and selects a "favorited" video for play. Arthur recognizes it from the thumbnail, and starts to soften despite himself; after all, it was the "America's Storage Cleaning" episodes that made the two of them confess to each other that they knew about _Hetalia_. This must be Alfred's awkward way of offering an olive branch. Although he probably shouldn't let Alfred off so easily, Arthur will accept. He allows himself a nostalgic smile as he watches his animated counterpart kneel in the mud.

"Is that how you really think it happened?"

Alfred's words fade the smile from Arthur's lips. "What?"

Alfred isn't smiling at all. "I'll give you a hint," he says. "It's not. That's _not_ what happened at Yorktown. I _beat_ you—yeah, with Francis's help." He holds up a hand to stop words Arthur wasn't even thinking. "Don't worry, I haven't forgotten that." The hand drops as Alfred continues unabated. "You didn't let me go there out of any sense of compassion or emotional connection or—you _lost_. You lost the _war_ , you lost _me_. Maybe not there—now don't give up on me just yet." Alfred's mouth is in the shape of a smile, but it's hard and heavy, too heavy to reach his eyes. "I do know _some_ history.

"Maybe it wasn't there," Alfred continues, "but that was the beginning of it. After that, you were forced to concede and negotiate the terms of my independence. My _nationhood_. You didn't give it to me, Arthur." There's no smile in Alfred's eyes, no; but there's a familiar fierceness that makes the hairs on the back of Arthur's neck stand on end. "I _earned it_."

Even though he's seated, Arthur feels off-balance, punched in the gut—sucker punched. "You…" He tries to reach through the jumble of emotions roiling in his gut for words, logic, reason. "I didn't create that animation," he says, latching onto the first thing that comes to mind. "If you're so upset, perhaps you ought speak to Kiku about it." Each rational word makes him feel better. "Honestly, I'm a little surprised you haven't already, seeing as you're so close with him these days."

Typical of him, Alfred ignores all logic and reason. "You could have said something to Kiku about the representation," he insists. "You could have said something to _me_ about it, even though I wasn't responsible. You could have said something about the 'historical inaccuracy,'" Alfred says, adding air quotes to the last phrase for emphasis. "But you didn't, because it made you look better than you were. You didn't, because you _liked_ it."

The air quotes dig into Arthur, sticking pointedly so that he hardly hears the last bit. "Don't you dare to equate what you've done with this. Not when you've done it repeatedly, continuing to portray my feats as your own." This time he ignores whatever his inner voice is trying to tell him, letting the heat wash through his veins, pouring out with his words. "I thought you'd learned better after you finally apologized for _Operation, Burma!_ , but you're _still doing it_." Arthur starts ticking off the titles on his fingers: " _Saving Private Ryan_ , _U-571_ , _Pearl Harbor_... Need I go on?"

Even though Alfred doesn't say anything, he continues looking at Arthur. And so Arthur, guard up, continues looking at Alfred.

Then Alfred says, "It must be nice to be so perfect all the time."

"I'm not bloody claiming to be perfect," Arthur snaps. "I'm just not st—"

"Stupid?" There's a set to Alfred's jaw; there's something else, a flash bright and maybe sad in Alfred's eyes.

"Stubborn," Arthur says.

"Oh, you're stubborn, all right." Alfred's brow furrows. "And you know it."

Arthur steels himself for more along those lines—but instead Alfred sits down, head in hands.

When he lifts his head a moment later, the furrow is gone and so is the brightness, his eyes dulled. "I don't think I can do this," Alfred says to the room; and then, looking directly at Arthur: "I know this is how you do things, how you relate to others. You and Francis have been sniping at each other forever, and you both like it like that." Without pausing to allow comment, Alfred goes on, "But I'm not like that. I don’t want that."

"Then what was the Cold War?" Arthur says before he knows the words are coming.

Alfred is quiet for a long moment before he says, "A tragedy."

The air is thick. Arthur wants to say something to break through it. He should apologize, even if the fault wasn't his. He should—

"I can't do this." Alfred sighs into the thickness, adding to it, making it almost impossible to breathe. "I just don't think I can do this, Arthur."

Arthur is afraid Alfred is going to kick him out, but Alfred is the one who gets up and walks away.

Of course he is.

 

_World Meeting, May 2009_

It's been over three months since the last movie night. Since Arthur and Alfred last got together for movie night, Arthur rephrases to himself carefully. There's nothing particularly unusual about that, especially as Alfred has been settling in with his new boss. American presidents are judged by their first one hundred days in office, so it's only natural that Alfred's full attention be with his boss, wherever his boss might go.

Of course, they're past the hundred day mark now. And there have been opportunities—like when Alfred's boss gave Arthur's that ridiculous gift of "classic American films" on DVD. That had Alfred's mark stamped all over it, though Arthur had been uncertain at the time whether it was meant as a taunt or one of Alfred's characteristic misguided yet sincere overtures. Truth be told, he still isn't certain.

It's not as if he and Alfred haven't spoken at all, of course. They've seen each other during their bosses' trips to each other's countries, and they've seen each other at world meetings like this one. They've talked policy. They've even talked about the strength of the special relationship—or at least their bosses have.

It seems to Arthur that Alfred's boss has been talking rather a lot about relationships, whether or not they've been dubbed "special." There was that strange business with the "reset button," for one. It had almost made Arthur feel better about the DVDs—until he'd actually read an account of the exchange. He'd been on the verge of laughing at the gaffe, when he noticed Alfred and Ivan in the background of one of the accompanying photos taken after the mistranslation revelation. Alfred's head was bent, Ivan's hand cupped 'round Alfred's exposed nape. Arthur couldn't see Alfred's expression, but Ivan had been smiling.

A different smile than the one Ivan is giving Arthur now. Caught staring across the room, Arthur turns away before his sudden blush can worsen. His gaze lands on Alfred, standing at the head of the conference table as he collects his notes from the just-concluded meeting.

The other nations aren't gathering around Alfred, exactly. But somehow he's drawing them into his orbit. Or, no—he's reaching out to them. But somehow they're still in his orbit, aren't they? Kiku, as close as ever, is standing to Alfred's right, where he'd been sitting during the meeting. He says something that makes Alfred laugh before Alfred turns to Yao, who'd been seated at his left, and makes Yao smile in turn. When Matthew passes by on the way to the exit, Alfred interrupts himself to turn around and stop him with a hand on his brother's arm. Though Matthew seems startled by the touch, he doesn't shake it off. On the contrary, he lingers a moment; he lingers, smiling.

At least Francis, who lately is acting as if he's in love with Alfred, has already left. As the room empties out, Arthur starts to make his way over. He just wants a word with Alfred. They've talked since movie night, but they haven't talked _about_ movie night, and Arthur thinks—well, he thinks they ought to. Perhaps over drinks tonight.

"Alfred," Arthur starts when he reaches the head of the table.

"Hey, Arthur!" Alfred grins. "Good meeting, don't you think?"

"Yes," Arthur says, not thinking about the meeting at all. He takes a breath. He's just going to say it. "Listen, I—"

"Alfred, my friend!"

Francis is standing—no, Francis has _draped_ himself in the doorway. It's laughable and Arthur would like to tell him so, except that when he glances at Alfred, Arthur can see that Alfred actually _likes_ it. He would, wouldn't he. Arthur slides his eyes away from both of them in mild disgust.

"It has occurred to me that you may not have plans to dine tonight," Francis says, and Arthur whips his head back around as Francis concludes with the inevitable question, "Would you care to join me?"

"That'd be awesome! Thanks, Francis."

Arthur looks away again as Francis tells Alfred he'll meet him in the lobby at eight o'clock. Francis at least says Arthur's name in parting, which Arthur acknowledges with a raised hand.

"Sorry, Arthur." Alfred sticks some papers in a manila folder, which he attempts to shove into an overstuffed satchel. "What were you saying?"

"Nothing," Arthur says. He can feel Francis's interruption like a rash, and scratches the back of his neck. "Enjoy your exclusive dinner with Francis."

"I don't think it's exclusive." The tip of Alfred's tongue pokes out from the corner of his mouth as he tries to make room in the satchel for his leftover presentation materials. "Did you want to come, too? I'm sure that would be okay."

"Thank you, no," Arthur says irritably, feeling the itch somewhere he can't scratch. "I don't need another after-the-fact pity invitation."

"Another—" Alfred leaves off trying to fit everything into his bag and looks up at Arthur. "What are you talking about?"

If Alfred is too dense to pick up on the D-Day Anniversary reference, Arthur isn't about to enlighten him. Instead, he says simply, "You and Francis are thick as thieves these days."

"Yeah," Alfred says slowly, almost—at least for him—cautiously. "It's nice, don't you think?"

"I think it's funny, after what you said before about him and me."

The hint of a furrow appears on Alfred's brow. "What did I say before?"

"You know." Arthur waves airily, as if it's naught but a triviality. "About the sniping—that was the word, I think?—between us."

The hint blossoms into a full, deep furrow. "Arthur, you're not—do you think I'm having dinner with Francis to spite you?" When Arthur makes no reply, the furrow disappears as Alfred laughs it off. "Not everything I do is about you, you know!" He stuffs the last of his things into his bulging satchel and slings it over his shoulder. "After all the recent animosity between me and Francis, I thought you'd be happy for me, at least, even if you aren't proud." He adjusts the shoulder strap more comfortably. "Well, I'm off to see Matt now."

The pitch of Alfred's inhale indicates he's going to say more, but Arthur is already saying, "Yes, I'm sure he'll give you all the praise you need." The unshakeable itch worms deeper inside. "Run along, then."

And the furrow is back. "That's not what I'm doing. I don't go running to Matt for praise or anything."

"No, it's Kiku these days, isn't it?" Arthur rubs distractedly at the back of his neck again, even though he knows he can't reach the itch from there. That's not even where he's feeling it. "Or are you moving on from that relationship—is Yao your new best friend now?"

Alfred looks as if he's been slapped. His jaw works, but no words come out. Arthur knows he's crossed a line, but he meets Alfred's silent, furious gaze evenly.

"I didn't have anyone else to turn to," Alfred says at last. "I needed help, and there was no one to turn to."

"If you're trying to make me feel guilty—"

"I'm not trying to make you feel anything. This isn't about you. I already said that, but I guess you weren't listening. You never listen to me, Arthur; not when it really matters."

This is the biggest load of bollocks to come out of Alfred's mouth yet. But Arthur bites back his objection because Alfred is still talking—and contrary to what he's just said, Arthur can and does listen.

"I know you couldn't help me with this," Alfred is saying. "You have money problems of your own. Most everyone does, especially anyone who would help me. And there aren't too many of those anymore. Or, I don't know," his voice drops, as if he's speaking to himself, "maybe there never were."

Alfred stops speaking, and Arthur can't help wondering if he's drifted off into self-pity. Unfortunately, he makes the observation aloud.

That snaps Alfred back from wherever he's gone. "I'm not feeling sorry for myself! Jesus Christ, Arthur, don't you remember what it felt like to see everything you'd worked for taken away from you, and what was left crumble into dust? To see your Empire not just fall, but dissolve? Maybe I was never an Empire, but I was a Superpower."

Again his voice drops, his gaze going beyond Arthur, caught somewhere between the future and the past, somewhere that isn't quite here and now. "I was the last superpower, and now I'm…I don't know what I am. I'm trying to move forward, I'm trying to find my place in the world with my new boss's help. I'm trying to fix what I've messed up. I'm trying to—I'm trying to earn it, Arthur. I am trying to earn it..."

He trails off, gone again. In this pause, Arthur goes somewhere himself. That choice of words, "earn it." Surely it's a reference to _Saving Private Ryan_. To that night, their last movie night. It means Alfred still thinks about that night. Doesn't it?

Arthur's ruminations are interrupted when Alfred says, "Do you have any idea what it's been like for me the past eight years? I guess that's nothing to you, eight years, but it's something to me. It's something to my people." There's a hot tremble of emotion, but his words are clear, his voice strong. "They don't live forever, you know. Don't you ever think about that, about your people and how things affect them? Or are you too goddamned worked up over the motorcycle Steve McQueen rode in _The Great Escape_ to care?"

Arthur does think about his people, about their place in the world and his own; he thinks about that all the time. Of course Alfred must think such things, too. Arthur may not agree with everything Alfred and his boss are trying right now—but yes, he can see that they _are_ trying. He hasn't said so; he hasn't thought he needed to. But he realizes now that Alfred needs to hear it.

It's too late for Arthur to share this insight with Alfred, though, because Alfred has gathered his things and left the room.

This time Arthur isn't going to let him walk away.

The doors to the lift close before Arthur can reach it, so he takes the emergency stairs down two at a time. Alfred is at the far side of the lobby when Arthur gets there, and Arthur hastens his pace to catch up. His footsteps echo off the marble floor and Arthur knows Alfred must hear them, but Alfred doesn't acknowledge him. As he falls in next to Alfred, Arthur chooses not to force it.

They walk out into a light rainfall, just a mist really. Alfred waves off the car that's been waiting for him, striding on determinedly. Arthur keeps walking, too; if he and Alfred part like this, he doesn't like to think how long it might be before they're able to come together again.

A block away, the mist turns to a steady rain, but Alfred doesn't turn back for the car.

The rain comes down harder, but Alfred keeps walking on.

The wind picks up, blowing directly in their faces, but it doesn't slow Alfred; he just turns up his collar.

The rain is so heavy now, Arthur can hardly see where he's going. With all the drops that must be clinging to Alfred's glasses, coating the lenses in a blur, Arthur doesn't see how Alfred can see where he's going at all. Anyone with sense would get out of the rain. But Alfred keeps walking. So Arthur keeps walking, too.

Then Alfred stops so abruptly Arthur nearly crashes into him. He's about to say something, when he realizes that while he's still wet, he's not actually getting wetter; he glances up at the awning sheltering them now.

Alfred has undone his jacket and is cleaning his glasses with an untucked shirt tail. He puts his glasses on again and leans back against the building without straightening his clothing, without looking at Arthur.

Arthur rests his shoulders against the building as well. The awning has kept the bricks dry, but they're cold enough to feel wet even through his jacket. He presses back more, letting body heat overcome the elements.

The patter of raindrops is mesmerizing. As he breathes, Arthur feels his heartbeat slipping into a rhythm with the rain. It coaxes him out of space and time, back to another rainfall, centuries past and miles away...

"I don't know if you remember this," Alfred says quietly, calling Arthur to the here and now, "but back in the 70s, the 1970s I mean, Matt's bosses wanted to downgrade the importance of our relationship, and my boss went as far as to say the special relationship between us was dead." Arthur thinks he hears a sigh, but it might only be the soft rush of rain and wind. "Despite that, he and I still share the longest unprotected border in the world, and today we have the biggest trading relationship in the world."

Arthur watches the rain fall.

"Even after my boss said that," Alfred says, "it didn't change my feelings for Matt."

Arthur turns to look at Alfred now, leaning sideways against the building. Alfred is still looking into the rain. Arthur doesn't know what Alfred is seeing, but the rain is whispering to Arthur, urging him to remember, to listen to his heart, to speak it.

"It could be like that for us, as well," Arthur says.

Still fixed on the rain, Alfred shakes his head. "You don't like my politics, and you don't like my culture. What's left, Arthur? What's left..."

He pushes himself off the building, and Arthur is afraid Alfred is going to walk away; without thinking, Arthur puts out his hand to stop him. His fingers brush Alfred's arm, and then his hand settles there. Alfred still doesn't look, but he doesn't shrug off the hand, he doesn't walk away.

"Perhaps," Arthur starts. His voice is rough. Likely the effects of being out in this weather; he won't be surprised to wake up with a cold tomorrow. He pushes on. "Perhaps what's left is us. Just us."

Alfred doesn't say anything. And he still doesn't look.

Then he moves his arm, and Arthur's heart sinks.

But Alfred just shifts so Arthur's hand slides down to his, and twines his fingers with Arthur's.

Arthur looks at their clasped hands. He looks up at Alfred's face, expecting to see Alfred staring straight ahead as he has been.

Alfred's eyes are closed. The breath he lets out is visible against the cold air. Instinctively, Arthur thinks to smooth Alfred's brow, but then sees it's already smooth.

When Arthur tugs his hand free, Alfred opens to let him go; before Alfred's fingers can close again, Arthur slips his other hand into Alfred's. Alfred's grip is warm, firm but not crushing. Arthur leans back against the building, side by side with Alfred, hand in hand with Alfred, and listens to the rain.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is borrowed from lyrics to Franz Ferdinand's [I'm Your Villain](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/franzferdinand/imyourvillain.html).
> 
> The fic is based on two requests:
> 
>   * Alfred and Arthur are watching **Love, Actually**. The **press conference scene** leads to angst before a happy ending. (I'm sorry I couldn't manage the happy ending part of the request; the best I could do was get them to a hopeful place.) I should note that all dialogue in "the world of Love, Actually" comes from the film itself.  
> 
>   * Arthur calls out Alfred on **historical inaccuracies in WWII films** , particularly as regards **British feats being represented as American ones** , as cited in [this article](http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2511243/War-films-that-bend-the-truth.html) in The Telegraph. Arthur's attitude is drawn exclusively from that article. If I misinterpreted or misused anything (which would be hilariously ironic!), all fault lies with me and not the Telegraph.
> 

> 
> **"We have a chance to recalibrate the special relationship and for the United Kingdom to work with America as a full partner."** — Obama's remarks about the special relationship, made in May 2008 when he was a senator and presidential hopeful, were quoted in the Guardian. Alfred gets the quote slightly wrong: Obama referred to it as "the relationship" not "the special relationship" in that particular sentence. Out of context, I thought the phrase needed clarification so I took that liberty. 
> 
> **"Like when Alfred's boss gave Arthur's that ridiculous gift of 'classic American films' on DVD."** — er... orz. To make matters worse, the discs apparently were Region 1 and therefore incompatible with DVD players in Europe. For the curious, here's the list of DVDs President Obama gave Prime Minister Brown. 
> 
> **"That strange business with the 'reset button'."** — In March 2009, Secretary of State Hillary Clinton presented Russian Foreign Minister Sergei Lavrov with a gift meant to symbolize the Obama administration's desire for a new beginning to the U.S.-Russia relationship. The gift was a plastic red button marked "peregruzka," which unfortunately [did not mean what the U.S. thought it meant](http://www.politico.com/news/stories/0309/19719.html): it said "overload" instead of "reset." 
> 
> **"Another after-the-fact pity invitation."** — The 65th anniversary of D-Day was celebrated on June 6, 2009. Queen Elizabeth II was not invited to attend. In the end, Prince Charles was invited and attended, but not before an outpouring of British outrage over the perceived snub by France. President Obama had been invited from the start. Here, Arthur is reacting to all of that. 
> 
> **"Or is Yao your best friend now?"** — Arthur's comment and the subsequent conversation between Alfred and him refer to ongoing economic difficulties and the enormous loans (approaching one trillion dollars) the United States has accepted from China. 
> 
> **"Too goddamned worked up over the motorcycle Steve McQueen rode in _The Great Escape_."** — This is one of the historical inaccuracies cited in the Telegraph article mentioned above. 
> 
> **"Back in the 1970s, Matt's bosses wanted to downgrade the importance of our relationship."** — In 1971, the U.S. enacted the New Economic Program (NEP), also known as the [Nixon Shock economic policies](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nixon_Shock), which among other things imposed a 10% tariff on Canadian imports. The NEP led in part to Canada's [Third Option policy](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Third_Option%20), which proposed to downgrade the importance of the U.S.-Canada relationship. Then in a 1972 speech, President Richard Nixon declared the special relationship between the U.S. and Canada dead. 


End file.
